Following Footsteps
by theblondeknight45
Summary: It has been roughly 20 years since the downfall of Project Freelancer. Most Freelancer Agents ended up dead or MIA, but a few escaped this fate paved new paths through the galaxy. One such ex-Freelancer was Agent Washington. I'm his son, the UNSC's Agent Washington II, or as most of my comrades know me, Washington. Not overly generic! Promise! "M" to be safe.


**I know this sounds pretty generic and used, but hopefully I can make it more interesting, ha ha. Love Red vs Blue, and Wash is easily the best character in my opinion, and go figure, this idea came to me playing Halo 4. **

**So, some important info: Some scenes will be flashbacks with Agent Washington; these will be in the third person omniscient narrative. The current day scenes with Wash's son will be in first person narrative. **

**Enjoy and please like and comment (I'm not sure what to do with this yet, but I'll be better able to tell with your guys' input :) (BTW, I don't own RVB...like at all...of all time...take that however you want so long as you know I don't own anything except this fic and my dreams) **

Following Footsteps

Have you ever felt the sensation of seething hatred flowing at you because of your lineage? I imagine Princes felt this way...of course, in the contemporary age, one of the biggest equivalents of Princes are the descendants of important military personnel like my father, Project Freelancer's Agent Washington. Not many of us exist because a lot of good soldiers forsake familial bonds for their duty and their honor. I didn't know my father, but I heard he eventually came into a relationship with a faceless soldier who was discharged on questionable grounds. Being a tool of the UNSC is in my blood.

I entered the service at the ripe old age of 19. Yeah, I meant old age. A lot of soldiers come in at 16 or 17 because of the pressing needs for order and regulation of the galaxy. More on that later, but due to my father's status, I was immediately placed in a side branch of the Navy, pretty high level, and to get in as a recruit is pretty unusual. This branch is (some say) the contemporary version of Project Freelancer, and somewhat like The Director my father served under, this branch is regulated and controlled directly by the high ranking officers of the regular forces.

Basically, we're a tool; actually sounds a lot like Project Freelancer to me, but I can't find it within myself to quit. I see the results of our work every day, and with the way things are going, I'd say that the bad we do is necessary. I don't have to like it, but I deal with it. Being a soldier is almost never easy.

Anyways, this side branch, known throughout the UNSC as the 117th Division, takes on the highest level of missions for the high ranking offices, which are in turn controlled by the actions of higher ranking officials, and so on and so forth. We're supposed to be in service of citizens across the galaxy, but given the current state of affairs, it probably isn't true. What a shock.

So about the condition of the galaxy...well, I guess the best way to put it is in one word: Armageddon. The war with the Covenant forces ended around 17 years ago, but a new war broke out not long after that. The constant state of turmoil has placed humanity in a near impossible position. We have to fight to survive, fight harder than ever, but we've been fighting for so long, that we're beginning to lose sight of what humanity really means...we've forced ourselves to become machines to protect the innocent. It has to end soon. If it doesn't, then those necessary evils we create will overtake us. Eventually, we'll become what we fight to destroy: tyrannical beings obsessed with the preservation of our species, so much so that we'll conquer others to further our own ends.

Our new enemy call themselves "The Harbingers". Their a collection of disgruntled humans and remnant alien forces with a big grudge. The conflict started when one early figure of The Harbingers destroyed a Navy Shipyard that was stationed near an important human facility on a planet out of reach of the public. The purpose of the attack and subsequent invasion was covered up, but it spawned years of fighting. That Harbinger was captured and killed about nine months after the attack; his codename was Felix. Little else about him is known.

You'd think we could do a better job of stopping them, given that they're not as large as the UNSC nor as powerful or rich. Soldiers fall with bullets, but ideas cannot be slain so easily. I know what my father and his contemporaries were fighting against, and I understand why Project Freelancer seemed so alluring. I just hope no one in a position to make something like it does too. I hope I'm really not a part of such a thing.

With such dangerous and powerful opposition, the UNSC has been going all out to stop them, and with most legendary figures of the past age gone, it's time for their descendants, time for me, to step up.

We're few and far between, but I know for a fact that Spartan Pierce was born, likely illegitimately, of Freelancer Agent Wyoming. Pierce is rough and brash and takes more pride in his status than I do, but he's a good solider, and the others tend to look at him and me as the de facto problem solvers. How lucky of us, right?

He and I are the only confirmed descendants of Freelancer Agents, but we're not the only kids on the block with famous parents. Spartan Chang is the son of a Spartan III, again, likely a case of illegitimate birth. Spartan Bell is one of the toughest of the era and she's allegedly related to the Keyes family...somehow. (I don't quite believe this one, but I can't disprove it...oh well).

Well, I guess this is all the recap I can afford right now. I didn't even want to do this, but the 117th Division members are required to leave weekly logs and update before big missions. Some scientific angle they're working. As much as I would love to put down some more about my past, for what, the 50th time? Anyways, same old background info, same personal commentary on it by yours truly. Signing off to enter mission debriefing,  
>-Spartan Washington II.<p>

* * *

><p>The dim lights of the room flickered on and off a few times as a figure jumped in and took cover behind the wall, followed closely by another, and then a third.<p>

"What happened to the others?" Simmons asked, his body shaking with more paranoia and fear than usual. Then again, could the others really talk about fearlessness?

"Hell if I know," Grif answered in an exacerbated voice and threw back a frag grenade with a silent yelp as it landed beside his foot.

"Maybe they-"

"Shut up, Caboose!" The reds snapped simultaneously, their incompetent blue ally speaking in a tone more suited for a casual conversation than combat.

"Did you see their leader?" Simmons questioned anxiously as he fired his rifle several times, knowing full well he had no hope of making contact.

"Yeah, when do think I got the hell out of there?" Grif replied sardonically.

"So what are gonna do now?" Simmons continued his round of questions and kept up with firing his rifle too.

"I know," Caboose interrupted, "let's use Sheila!"

"Caboose you moron, Sheila's gone!" Grif snapped and fired his own weapon as Simmons reloaded.

"What about Freckles?" Caboose asked, his hope taking no damage at the quip.

"Freckles is gone too! Freckles, Sheila, Doc, Donut, they're all gone! And we can't find the others either! This is so bad!" Simmons whined amid rushing back behind cover as more bullets pelted the walls and floor.

"Well whatever we're gonna do, we better do it now-and what the hell happened to this place! Where's the fucking door anyways?" Grif screamed in frustration and panic, given that he had just ran out of ammo.

"That's it; we're dead!" Simmons cried out.

"Hey dirtbags! What are you wasting time here for? And why didn't you use emergency plan "Grif gets sacrificed to save the team?" A familiar and scolding voice called out from the shadows as Sarge ran forward.

"Sarge! Thank God, where've you been?" Simmons asked in delight, running forward to his commanding officer, followed closely by Caboose and Grif; the orange colored sim soldier muttered a nasty phrase at Sarge's never ending hatred for him.

"No, seriously, Grif, get out there and start being useful to us," Sarge ordered and ran off into the shadows with the three others close behind him, the explosions and bullets still trashing the entrance of the battered bunker. The enemy would surely be close behind.

* * *

><p>"Listen up people," the commanding soldier's voice rings out through the room, "this one is simple and short. Get in, get the package, get out. By the book simple."<p>

"So why is the 117th being sent in if it's so easy?" Chang asks, his question a mix of genuine curiosity and his natural character as a smart-ass.

"Since when has Navy Intel been accurate about short, easy ops?" A female spartan answers, much to the commander's annoyance. I hate these briefings.

"Shut your mouths and listen."

Silence abounds.

"This might be easy, but it's also very important. This package is an AI of unconfirmed identity, but command thinks it's high priority. How it ended up here is a mystery, but we'll know when we get it. If anything goes wrong at any time during the mission, command wants us to be ready. No screw ups, no excuses. We do this. Bottom line."

"So how do the specifics work?" Spartan Bell inquires from the relaxed position of her seat.

"We're going in 3 teams. I'm leading Alpha, as always. Pierce is commanding Beta, and Bell, you and Chang are heading up Delta. Full rosters are in the back people."

All heads except the commander's shift to me. What am I supposed to do? I guess speak up and 'assert my place' or something like that, but I don't care much. I just do what I have to do to make the galaxy a little safer. Doesn't matter in the end, the commander stares me down and clears his throat to settle down any whispers.

"Washington, you're on special orders from command."

Oh boy...

"So what does this entail?" I ask with as little emotion as possible.

"You'll be landing nearby, but your specific objective is listed on the data pad in your locker. I can't tell you anything else."

Well...this will be an interesting mission. I've always felt the pressure, the subtle and silent command to epitomize the name 'Washington'. Looks like they want to give me the chance to do just that. Then again, this situation seems a little too perfect. I better keep my ears and eyes open.

The briefing room empties quickly, but the level headed ones keep their cool and sit back for a bit. The other 'children of heroes' fit this mold, as do some of the most experienced soldiers. We aren't as concerned with blind patriotism or hero worship, and we know that no matter how easy something sounds, any step could be your last in the 117th.

"So," Bell opens as she approaches with a flirtatious taunt, "you screwed up the training mission so bad last week they don't even want you around for the main objective. Nice."

"I didn't screw up that badly..." I'm way too concerned with other things to worry about Bell right now...

"You got yourself eliminated when the teams were tied 990-990! You didn't check the corner before you turned!"

"It could have happened to anyone...besides, the motion trackers were malfunctioning."

"Yeah, because your team didn't get to the field supplies fast enough. Honestly, what idiot lets the other team get to the EMP equipment before the team that's closer to that supply cache?"

"Are we done here?"

She walks behind me as I go to leave and slides her finger across my shoulders, more playful and antagonizing than ever. She giggles too, but it's not clean, friendly giggle. She really has something against me.

"We're never done, Wash, but I'll let you go prep for that 'special mission of yours'." Her wicked smile is almost visible under her amber helmet.

Chang sees the interaction and gives me a sarcastic thumbs up. Nobody likes a soldier who inherited his fame. Man I'm on a team of assholes.


End file.
